He bent down and kissed my forehead.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
The anesthesiologist told me to count backward from ten.
I got to seven.
The anesthesia crept through my veins, and the world slipped away.
When I woke up, my head felt heavy.
Like it was full of wet sand. My mouth was dry. Everything ached in a dull, far-away way.
My eyes were wrapped in thick bandages. I could feel the pressure of them all the way around my head.
Machines beeped softly around me.
“Nigel?” My voice sounded small. Like a little girl’s.
“I’m here,” he said immediately.
He was right beside me. He must have been sitting there the whole time.
But something in his tone was wrong.
There was no excitement in it. No triumph. Nothing.
My stomach dropped.
“Was the surgery unsuccessful?” I asked.
“It was successful,” he said. “Everything went perfectly. Your scans this morning look better than we hoped. You’ll finally be able to see.”
